


It's Not Enough

by WillowDragonCat



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Other, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:54:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29244645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowDragonCat/pseuds/WillowDragonCat
Summary: Alan's had a bad rescue.Trigger warnings for whump, occasional but very descriptive blood and gore, sickness and unknown character death.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	It's Not Enough

“On three,” Virgil called, wedging himself into the gap, the mechanical claws of his exo suit taking a tight hold of the metal beam. “Ready?” He braced his legs and back against the support the suit offered and took a deep breath.

“Ready!” Gordon confirmed from somewhere behind and below him.

“One...two...THREE!” With a mechanical whine of protest and a pained grunt, Virgil managed to heave the beam about a foot into the air.. The close confines of the area, coupled with the other debris that had landed on top, made anything more next to impossible. He just hoped it would be enough.

“Hurry,” he hissed, feeling the burn in his biceps even though his suit was doing the majority of the work.

“Almost...there,” Gordon huffed, practically on his belly as he maneuvered around Virgil's spread legs and wiggled into the gap he’d made. 

Virgil risked a glance down and saw that Gordon had managed to hook his arm under one of the man’s that they were there to rescue and was even now trying to haul him backwards out of the way of the beam. 

The man had apparently been conscious when they had first received the distress call, the person on the other end of the line had told John so. But, by the time they had reached the danger zone, less than fourteen minutes after the call had been made, the man had lost consciousness and all attempts to get him to respond had failed.

Still, they had kept going, leaving Scott and Alan to help the other, less severe and more easily accessed, residents that were in need of rescue.

“Clear!” Gordon called out and, after a check over his shoulder to make sure that Gordon was correct, Virgil let the beam drop with a thump that shook the ground they stood on.

“How is he?” Virgil called, backing carefully out of the gap they had made and turning around, wary of the extra space his suit took up.

“No pulse, no signs of life.”

“Should we start resuscitation?” Virgil asked, coming up behind his brother and looking over his brother's shoulder at the man he’d hauled out. Gordon shook his head. 

“No, no chance of survival,” Gordon answered sadly. This was a hazard to the job, one they hated more than anything, but something that had had to make peace with. 

“Hey, guys, we got the-” Alan skidded to a halt as he scrambled into the hole they were in, obviously having been sent by Scott to see if they needed any help. 

“Allie, no, don’t look,” Virgil ordered as Gordon tried to hastily cover the body on the floor, but the damage had been done.

Alan’s gaze locked on to that of the man they had freed, the cold, staring eyes seeming to bore into his own even though he knew there was no life left behind them. They were the eyes of a dead man, eyes that would see no more.

He tore his eyes away from the man’s but that did little to help, all it did was bring the extent of the man’s devastatingly fatal injuries into full view. The beam that Virgil had lifted off him had acted almost like a guillotine, catching him just under the ribs and smashing through vital organs as well as almost severing his legs. The gaping hole in his abdomen had begun gushing blood the moment the pressure of the beam had lifted, likely from a severed aorta, soaking the ground on which he lay, along with the knees of Gordon’s suit. 

The unmistakable scent of perforated bowel hung in the air, clogging their noses, sinking down into their pores. Gordon and Virgil had no choice in it, but that didn’t mean Alan had to suffer.

“Al, go back to Scott,” Gordon urged, keeping his tone as gentle as possible, trying to bring his little brother back to the present as he succeeded in unfolding a space blanket Virgil had stashed in his baldric and used it to cover the man’s head and torso.

The covering of the body seemed to snap Alan out of his dazed trance, his eyes blinking as he regained focus, dragging his head up to look at first Gordon, then Virgil.

“You OK?” Virgil asked softly, “do you need-”

Alan’s body went rigid for a second, almost frozen on the spot, then he moved. Clamping his hand over his mouth he turned tail and just managed to get out of the narrow hole they had excavated before he lost his breakfast.

The sound of painful retching reached their ears, making them wince in sympathy as Alan’s stomach forcefully evacuated its contents. They didn't blame him, they'd been them themselves on more than one occasion. 

Virgil dragged his arm out of the exo suit and touched the embossed IR symbol on his baldric, connecting him to his brother.

“Virg?” Scott’s voice was there instantly. “Did Alan find you OK? I just completed the handover of our last recovery.”

“You need to come and get him,” Virgil said, not having time to mince his words.”We have one deceased here and we need to make the area safe for the recovery team.”

“FAB,” Scott didn’t need to hear anymore, he was already sprinting back the way he had come, into the dark depths of the building, following the red blinking light on his comm that indicated the whereabouts of his little brother.

Alan’s head felt like it was about to explode, his stomach cramped violently again and he expelled another bitter mouthful of fiery bile that burnt his throat, making his eyes water. He felt his arms shaking as they struggled to hold him up and stop him face planting the ground where he was crouched on the filthy floor of what had once been a basement below a kitchen.

Why had he looked? Why hadn’t he listened to his brothers? he thought, mentally screaming at himself. His eyes closed of their own accord, seeking some relief from the pounding pressure in his head, but the second they closed he saw him again, the wide open eyes, the mangled legs. He snapped his eyes open again, willing the image away.

A strong hand landed on his back, stroking in soothing circles and the familiar woodsy scent of Scott’s aftershave enveloped him. He breathed it in, inhaling in desperate gulps that helped chase away the acidic tang of his vomit and other unmentionable things coming from the cave in which his brothers still worked.

Scott’s presence was like a lifeline for him, strong and steady as he always was, his biggest brother, the one he could always count on. He shuddered one more time, his spine bowing as he dry heaved but thankfully nothing more was forthcoming. 

He lifted his head to be greeted with a metal straw that was sticking out of a bottle of water that his brother held out to him. The metal felt cold against his lips and it clinked against his teeth as it entered his mouth but that was good, that felt solid, real, a physical reminder that while the man in the cave was gone, he was not. 

He sucked hard on the straw, swallowing quickly as the cool liquid bathed his tongue, flowing down to soothe his burning throat, going some way to washing away the foul taste. He drank all he could, downing almost half the bottle before he pushed it away.

“Had enough?” 

Alan nodded and Scott set the bottle aside.

“Want to try to stand?”

Alan nodded again, feeling Scott’s arms slide under his own, supporting him as he was hauled to his feet. He stumbled before he could get his shaking legs to support him but, as always, Scott was there to catch him, keeping him upright.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Scott said softly, already steering Alan towards the exit they had made.

“But...we can’t...we need to help…”

“There’s nothing we can do to help right now,” Scott told him firmly. “Gordon and Virgil are in control, they know what they are doing, plus we wouldn’t fit in there, not without being in their way. We’re better off outside.”

Alan wanted to argue, he wanted to be strong, just like his brothers. He wanted to insist that he be allowed to stay and help, not be shepherded outside like a child. But he kept his mouth shut, because he didn’t want to stay. He would admit that to himself even if it hurt. He didn’t want to be there, he wanted nothing more than to be outside, to see daylight, to be away from the whole situation. He both loved and hated Scott for making him leave.

He’d grown up in a family of heroes, of men that were capable of anything they put their minds to. They never seemed to falter, they never seemed to collapse under the pressure, to react the way he had just done. It just compounded what he had always known, that he was the weak link. He was the one that always let them down. 

Scott helped him through the maze of broken beams, collapsed walls and piles of still smouldering debris, the results of the gas leak that had practically levelled the building and the one next door. Keeping him steady when he wobbled, guiding him when he lost his bearings, his arm solid and strong around his waist. 

The moment they emerged blinking into the sunshine, a day that seemed far too bright and cheerful to have been part of such a tragic loss of lives, Scott dragged him close, pulling him into a hug so tight it squeezed the air from his lungs.

Alan hesitated for just a moment, needing to be strong, trying to keep himself together, but then, like a castle of playing cards, he collapsed into the comfort that his brother offered him. He buried his face against the slightly scratchy material of the uniform that covered his brother’s chest, the bright blue seeming to burn through his closed eyelids, going someway towards chasing away the spectral image that was right there waiting.

Alan didn’t know how long they stayed there, how long he allowed his brother’s strength to leech into him, how long he soaked up that comfort and understanding that Scott offered, but it was long enough.

Finally he allowed himself to pull back, to take a deep breath of the air that still stank of smoke and burning timber.

“I’m taking you home,” Scott announced like it was a done deal. 

“No, no way," he protested. "I’m good, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Scott insisted, his tone gentle but holding a note of finality and Alan knew it would be useless to argue with him. Honestly, he didn’t know if he wanted to argue. No matter how pathetic it made him, he wanted nothing more than to be home, surrounded by familiar things, away from the sights and smells of this danger zone.

“But what about Virgil and Gordon?” he asked, because he felt he had to, not because he wanted to.

“They’ll be fine,” Scott assured him. “They’ll have finished securing the scene by now, allowing the recovery team to get in and do their jobs. The fire’s out, there’s not much more we can do. They can follow when they’re done.”

Alan wanted to put up some token protest, but he couldn't seem to force the words out. Instead he listened to the distant sound of his brother talking to first Virgil, then John, hearing their words absently, almost like they were talking from the other end of a long tunnel as he strapped himself into the passenger seat behind his brother. He kept his eyes fixed on the back of his brother's seat and the softly glowing image of John that hovered above the console as the sleek craft lifted into the air.

It seemed like the blink of an eye before the craft tipped up on its end, its wings folding back into its body as it sunk carefully into the opening that had appeared as the pool slid back. He felt the bump as they landed, distantly head the metallic clunk as the craft’s engines located with their base on the conveyor that would take it back to its resting spot in the hangar.

He moved almost like he was in a trance, on autopilot, brushing away Scott’s concerns as he excused himself to go to his room. As soon as he shut the door behind him he began to tear at his clothes, dragging off his uniform, tossing it into a corner. He needed to get it away, to get rid of the smell that seemed to cling to his skin, soaked into his pores.

He stood under the scalding spray of the shower but he barely felt it. Water poured over his hair, running down his face to drip off the end of his nose but he didn’t notice. All he could see, all he could focus on was the fact that he was standing there, alive to even be able to shower.

He roused himself enough to reach for the shower gel, squeezing a generous dollop onto his loofah. He was fine as he washed his torso, scrubbing at his arms as he always did, but the second he moved lower, bending slightly to reach his legs he saw them again, the mangled remains of the man’s, barely hanging from a thread of sinewy muscle, the stark white of cracked bones sticking out at odd angles.

He breathed deeply, feeling the bile rising in his throat again, feeling his stomach churning, cramping around nothing. He rubbed at his tummy in an attempt to calm it, his fingers meeting toned flesh rather than the gaping hole that had been ripped into the man's. 

He shook his head to clear the thoughts and slammed a hand down on the button, shutting off the water. He grabbed a towel and vigorously dried himself in quick movements, refusing to linger or allow himself to think about the fact that his body was intact, whole and healthy.

He’d known that people died, of course he did, he was technically an orphan having lost both his mother and his father, but he’d never felt alone. How could he, surrounded by siblings and an overprotective grandmother? 

He’d heard it reported over the comms by John, heard the losses totalled up like they were nothing but loose pocket change, abstract and almost meaningless. Sure he knew that each of those numbers was a person, but he didn’t KNOW it, he’d been shielded from it, from the grim reality of rescues far more than he had realised.

Virgil knocked on his door a few hours later, although Alan hadn’t even known they had returned, hadn’t registered the sound of Two’s engines like he normally would. Usually he was the first there, eagerly awaiting news, wanting to hear all the stories of the rescue, to feel part of it. But not this time.

This had been his fifth rescue, permitted only because of Scott’s wish for a quiet life. They obviously hadn’t expected it to be that bad, they couldn’t have or they wouldn’t have let him in, Scott wouldn’t have sent him in to help. 

The call had come from a neighbor, one who had heard the explosion from their home down the street. They had rushed out to find one house almost completely destroyed and the houses either side of it sporting crumbling walls as a result of the blast. John had scanned for life signs, finding nine. Three belonging to the family who had been asleep in the upstairs rooms, three from the house on the left hand side, two on the right and the one lower down in the basement.

“Alan? You in there?” Virgil called through the door, knocking again when he received no answer.

Alan didn't want to answer, he really didn't. He didn't want to face his heroic brothers who had come through the whole thing absolutely fine when he hadn’t been able to handle it. He had times of feeling like he was so grown up, even when they treated him like he was a child, like Scott with his insistence that Alan had to have armour built into his suit. But then, in moments like this, he had never felt more like a scared kid. And he hated it. All he wanted was to be an active and valued member of the team, to pull his weight and help continue the family legacy that their father had started. 

“Come and have some food,” Virgil wheedled. “Scott put in a couple of pizzas, the kind that you like with the gooey cheese in the crust.”

Alan’s stomach lurched and he absently rubbed it, unable to tell if it was because he’d thrown up its entire contents or because it was warning him that it wouldn’t take much for him to go back to spewing like a fountain. 

Virgil knocked again and Alan waivered. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, maybe what he actually needed was to be in the middle of his slightly boisterous family, surrounded by love and laughs. Maybe that would help take his mind off it, giving him something else to focus on other than the images that were haunting him.

“And Gordon made his pasta,” Virgil added to sweeten the pot.

That did it, Alan loved Gordon’s pasta, mostly because he hardly ever made it. It required fresh tomatoes, decent oil and two types of fresh pasta, most of which they never had in stock. His stomach rumbled at the thought of it as if remembering that breakfast had been a very long time ago.

Slowly he opened the door.

“Fine, I'll come, but if Gordon laughs at me I’m going to stay with John,” he threatened, narrowing his eyes in warning.

“There’s nothing to laugh at,” Virgil told him firmly. “Not one single thing. We just want to give you a chance to eat something before Scott gets it all.”

Alan scanned his brother’s face for any trace of dishonesty or trickery. When he saw nothing of the sort he nodded his acceptance.

***

Dinner had been nice and, as it had turned out, exactly what he had needed. His brothers had obviously had some kind of conference before Virgil had been sent to fetch him. They studiously ignored the tap dancing elephant in the room, concentrating on eating and keeping the conversation cheerful and light. 

He'd surprised himself by managing to eat almost half of the plateful that had been deposited in front of him. It was more than he had expected to be able to stomach and so far it seemed to be staying put. 

Scott asked if they wanted to watch a movie, something that he never normally did, obviously foregoing the usual debrief and report writing that was his custom. Alan knew that was for his benefit but he was grateful for it. 

He soon found himself squashed on the couch between his two oldest brothers with Gordon stretching out across their laps, reclining like a king being fed grapes, or in his case, handfuls of Scott's popcorn. 

With a warm, solid presence of his biggest brothers on either side and the heavy weight of Gordon on top of him he finally allowed himself to relax. He'd needed this, he realised, needed to feel them near him, needed to feel them strong and alive.

He needed to inhale the combined scents of Scott's spicy aftershave, the underlying tone of paintbrush cleaner and engine oil that seem to permenate Virgil's skin, the slightly salty, fresh fragrance of Gordon. He needed the scents of home and family to burrow deep in his nose, chasing away the lingering memory of smoke, ash and death that he couldn't seem to forget. 

He'd needed this affirmation that everyone important to him had made it home safe and sound. That everyone that mattered in his life was alive and well, even if the same couldn't be said for someone else's loved one. 

He couldn't recall even the smallest detail about the movie they watched, couldn't have named it if you'd paid him. But it didn't matter, because it was normal, it was comforting and it helped to keep away the shivering that had plagued him. 

"Time for bed," Scott announced when the credits finished rolling, flicking off the holoprojector and shoving Gordon's legs unceremoniously off his lap. They dropped to the floor, almost taking Gordon with them, his squid brother swearing a blue streak as he flailed, fighting gravity. 

Virgil looped an arm around Gordon's middle, keeping him from splatting the floor and held him up until he managed to get his feet under him enough to regain his balance and stand. 

"You gonna be alright?" Scott asked Alan, his brow creased in concern, his first mention, the first acknowledgement, that things weren't as normal as they appeared. 

"I'll be fine," Alan answered instantly, not allowing himself to pause and think about it. 

"You sure, Squirt?" Virgil laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. 

"Yeah, I'm sure," Alan insisted. It had been nice while the movie had been playing, no one had bothered him, no one had stared at him like they expected him to burst into tears or throw up any second. It had been nice, normal and he wanted that back. He didn't want them to talk to him in that soft, almost babying tone, he wanted them to talk to him like they did each other. Like a man, not a child that had seen something he shouldn't have. 

Scott studied him for a moment or two longer, his eyes searching his face, before he finally nodded. 

"Alright, but you know where we are if you need us."

"We're just down the hall," Virgil added like a parent to a child suffering from nightmares. 

Alan felt a frizzion of anger at the treatment. Why were they acting this way? He'd said he was fine and he would be. Them babying him was just going to make it worse. He knew that he'd been pathetic and weak, he knew that he'd reacted like an idiot and it had probably cost him any chance he had of going out on a rescue again any time soon but he didn't need it rubbed in his face. 

He shook off Virgil's hand with an angry shrug of his shoulders. 

"I know where you sleep, I'm not an idiot, but I won't be knocking. I told you I'm fine, I just want to go to bed."

Virgil glanced at Scott, once again having one of their silent conversations that the rest of them weren't privy to, culminating in Scott nodding. 

"Fine, we'll leave you alone, go and get some sleep, I think we've all earned it."

Gordon, thankfully, didn't say a word, he just took himself off to the kitchen to drink his customary half a liter of water before he slept, hydration being his sole focus. 

Alan slouched after his brothers, locking himself away in his room as quickly as he could after a hastily mumbled good night. 

Once inside, the door firmly closed behind him, he dropped down face first on his bed, stretching out full length like a starfish, glad to be away from the assessing eyes and concerned tones of his brothers. He knew they were just looking out for him and that he should be grateful, but it was hard being the baby of the family and being treated differently to everyone else. His brothers were the high flying, over achieving hero genius type and while he had a lot going for him too, he couldn't help but compare himself to them. Whatever he did in his life there would be at least one of them that had done it before him, setting an impossibly high standard that he'd never hope to match. 

He rolled over onto his back and then flopped onto his side, balling the pillow up beneath his chin, wrapping his arms around it, hugging it tight against his chest. He closed his eyes, trying to will himself into sleep, he was so tired, his body ached and his throat was still so sore. But the moment his eyes closed it was like he was back there, smelling the scent of death in the air, surrounded by deadly destruction. 

Scott was always nagging at him to make sure that he'd done his homework before he played any games, it was a rule. That and not being allowed to play them past midnight. The clock on his bedside table proclaimed it to be 0:43 and Alan actually felt a twinge of guilt as he tossed the pillow aside and leapt off the bed, grabbing his controller, flicking on his games console. He knew he wasn't supposed to be playing, but he needed something to occupy his mind. Maybe playing a few games until he was mentally exhausted enough to sleep would help. 

A few games turned into six as he happily played, his mind focused on other things as he worked his ninja character all the way through three levels, two of which his friends had been stuck on for weeks. He only had to get past the mafia boss to make it to the next stage. 

He sat up straighter, ready to pay full attention, he'd need to carefully plan every single move he made if he wanted to stand even the slightest chance of survival. 

He drew his sword and threw himself into the battle. He ducked and twisted, stabbed and blocked, punched and kicked his way towards victory. The boss was stumbling, his health lower than Alan had ever seen it before, he just needed to finish him. 

He raised his sword and swept forward in a graceful move, his sword travelling in a precise arch, slicing cleanly through the middle of the boss who had lifted his own sword in defence, catching him off guard. 

The action on screen slowed, moving one frame at a time to show the full extent of the devastation his blade had caused. The boss's face registered complete shock before his legs dropped away from his torso. His upper chest hung suspended for a second or two as his innards exploded in a disgusting mass of blood and gore, falling to land wetly on his legs. His torso hung for another moment before it too fell to the floor, the man's eyes staring sightlessly out from the screen. 

WINNER WINNER WINNER flashed up, but Alan didn't see it. All he saw was the mess on the screen. The mess that in previous days would have meant nothing to him but a bunch of pixels on a screen, a victory lap of the lounge and a chance to brag to his fellow gamers online. Now the pixels had a real face, the images had a smell, the character snuffed out on screen now reminded him of the life they had failed to save. 

He didn't even realise he was crying until the wetness dripped down onto his hands that were still holding the controller. He glanced down at the glistening spot of moisture that decorated his skin, trying to hold in the tide of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He sniffed once, twice, tried a deep gulping breath but nothing could keep it at bay. 

He dropped the controller, his body seeming to fold in on itself as he collapsed sideways, curling up in a ball on the floor as he let go, let all the fear and horror of the day escape him in a torrent of tears. 

He didn't know the time, he didn't hear the incessant beeping of his game as it chanted out his status as a winner when he'd never felt like more of a loser in his life. He didn't see the hologram flicking to life in the corner of his room, he didn't register anything at all. Not the quiet sound of his door opening, nor the silent presence that crossed the room to sit beside him, he didn't realise that he was no longer alone until a gentle hand landed on his back. 

He froze, the breath catching in his throat as he tried valiantly to regain some kind of control over his emotions. The hand on his back moved back and forth in a soothing pattern, its owner staying silent, giving him the time he needed as he continued to sob like his heart was breaking. 

Eventually his body ran out of tears. His nose was running, his head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton wool and he desperately needed to sit up or risk suffocating. He rolled over to face the person sitting next to him, his eyes widening when he saw not the expected sapphire blue or warm brown, but deep turquoise. 

"When did you get home?" he mumbled, dragging himself upright, wiping his eyes hurriedly on the hem of his shirt. 

"About twenty minutes ago."

"Why? You aren't due a break for at least four days."

"Can't I check in on my favourite brother without a reason?" 

"Scott called you, didn't he?" 

"No!"

"Virgil then," Alan huffed, shrugging his shoulder to shake off his brother's hand. "They shouldn't have bothered you, I'm fine, you don't have to be here."

"You didn't look fine to me," John argued, though he was missing his usual slightly impatient tone Alan was used to hearing. 

"Thanks, I'm sorry that I'm not measuring up to everyone's expectations," Alan sneered. 

John's forehead creased in confusion. "Who's expectations are you talking about here? Because I'm sure they're not mine."

"Urghhh, come off it. You don't have to lie to spare my feelings."

John snorted, leaning back on his arms, stretching his long legs out in front of him, the material of his suit creaking ever so slightly. 

"I never lie, you know that."

Alan opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again when faced with the raised eyebrow of doom. John was right, he never lied, even in situations when it would probably be better if he did. 

"Want to talk about it?" John asked softly. 

Now it was Alan's turn to snort. 

"No, I don't want to talk about it."

"It might help."

"Why would I want to talk about the single most embarrassing thing I've ever done? How can talking about it help with that?" 

"I hate to be the one to break it to you, little bro, but you're going to have far more embarrassing things than this happen to you in your life."

"That's comforting."

"Sorry," John rubbed the back of his neck, his long fingers brushing the high collar of his space suit. "I guess this isn't really my area of expertise."

Alan stayed quiet, he wasn't given to lying either. 

"You shouldn't see what happened today as embarrassing though," John continued, ignoring the fact that his brother hadn't leapt to his defence. 

"Throwing up at a danger zone, yeah, that's not embarrassing at all," Alan scoffed, wiping at his face one more time before reaching across his brother to grab a couple of tissues from the box on the table behind his bean bag. He blew his nose noisily, tossing the tissue over his shoulder in the vague direction of his trash can.

"It's not," John continued as if Alan hadn't just blown his nose like a fog horn far too near to his ear. "There is nothing embarrassing about a perfectly normal, not to mention understandable, reaction to a horrible situation."

"I didn't see anyone else puking their guts up," Alan argued, crossing his arms defiantly. 

"Not this time, no."

Alan's eyebrows shot up in surprise. 

"Someone's puked before? Who?" 

"Virgil and Gordon," John answered promptly. 

"Yeah?" 

"And Dad."

"Really? Dad did?" Alan gaped, completely shocked by this revelation. 

John nodded. "And Scott almost did, though he managed to wait until he got back into One, so that doesn't count."

Once again Alan found himself with nothing to say. 

"Throwing up in space sucks too," John continued, on a roll now. "It's a natural reaction to mental and emotional trauma."

"But you're in space most of the time, you hardly ever go on a rescue."

"Do you think that means I have the easy job? That I'm not affected by things as much as you guys are?" 

Alan shrugged. Honestly he'd never thought about it before. He knew John was a vital part of their operation but he was essentially their version of a telephone operator. 

"I don't just answer the calls you know," John sniffed, once again showcasing his eerie ability to say exactly what you were thinking as if he were reading your mind. "It's not just about receiving the calls, it's about deciding what to do with them."

"You call it in to us," Alan said as if he were explaining two plus two. 

"Not if the situation is hopeless. We might have the most advanced rescue equipment in the world, but we're still a small team and we have our limits, just as everyone does. Calls that we can deal with I transfer, but some are just too far gone," John kept his tone even, as if he were simply remarking on the weather but Alan could see the truth behind his brother's carefully neutral expression. 

"How many calls do we get like that?" 

"Where we can't help? Far more than I'd like."

"They've made you throw up like I did?" 

"Sometimes, it depends on the call. The first time it happened, the first time I had a call where someone was dying, I knew that there was nothing I could do but listen."

"Why?"

"Why what?" 

"Why listen?" Alan whispered, hardly able to form the words. 

"Because that's my job. People call us when they have no other option. We're there to provide hope. We don't abandon people, even when there is no help to give, they deserve to have someone with them in their last moments."

John stretched out a hand and for the first time in years, just like when he was a little boy begging his older brother to show him around a museum, Alan took the offered hand. He didn't care if it was childish, he didn't care if it made him a baby, he needed the comfort and security of knowing that he wasn't alone, that he had someone taking care of him. 

"Our job is important, and we're good at it. But the reason we're so good at it is because we're human. We have human thoughts and emotions, the ability to think, to make judgement calls and to feel, that's the most important part. If we lost that we'd lose our ability to do our jobs." John squeezed Alan's hand, making sure he was paying attention. 

"And for those that don't make it, we take comfort in the fact that they had someone there that cared, that they will be returned to their families, to the people that love them and that is something you should never underestimate the value of."

Alan nodded, knowing how hard it had been for all of them when they hadn't had a body to bury when they had lost their father, but John felt the need to drive his point home. 

"Don't ever mistake caring for weakness, don't ever wish you were any different. Virgil and Gordon might have been better able to handle the situation, but that's through experience, experience that you don't have."

"I should still have been able to keep it together."

"Allie, you're fourteen and it was only your fifth rescue, and your first really bad one, but even we didn't think it would be that bad. It shouldn't have been that bad. If I'd known more details I'd have told Scott to keep you at home. The other families all managed to walk away with serious but not life threatening injuries, but that man," John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and for the first time Alan looked at his brother properly. He looked tired, as he often did, but this was not just a physical tired, this was an emotionally drained John and, weirdly enough, it gave Alan some comfort. 

"That man, Jared Harper, should not have been there," John continued. "He should not have been in the basement. The family that lived in the upper levels of the house said that the basement apartment was vacant and the man was homeless, he'd let himself in more than once."

"Did anyone tell his family?" 

"He had none that I could find, and believe me I tried."

"So, there's no one to miss him? He's got no one to remember him? No one that cares?" 

"Yes, there is. He's got us. We'll remember him, you'll remember him. There's more to our job than just rescuing people. I can't promise that you won't remember him for the rest of your life, but I can promise that it will get easier. But, until then," John touched a button on his baldric and a hologram formed, projecting from the center of his chest. John scrolled through a number of photographs of people that Alan didn't recognise. He came to a stop on the face of a cheerful looking man in some kind of security uniform, grinning at the camera, looking so different to the dead man that Alan could still picture so clearly. 

"I make a point of tracking down the information of everyone we can't save," John explained. "He's there with them, he won't be forgotten because we will remember him."

As Alan stared at the picture he felt a little of the tightness in his chest ease. He knew that this wasn't something he'd get over any time soon, he knew that it would likely be the first of many terrible things that he would witness but, knowing that his brothers, all of his brothers, understood, made it a little more bearable. 

"Thanks, John," he mumbled, suddenly unsure of what to do or say next. His brother had just shared something with him, something that he likely hadn't even told the others about and, while Alan felt honored that John had felt like he could confide in him, he couldn't help but feel awkward. What did you say after something like that? 

"Hey," John said, breaking the tension as he reached for Alan's abandoned controller. "You got another one of these lying around?" 

"You wanna play with me?" Alan asked skeptically. 

"Sure."

"Won't Scott get mad at you for encouraging me to break the rules?" Alan grinned, reaching into his bedside drawer for his second controller. "I'm not supposed to play after midnight and it's," he glanced at the clock, "nearly 3am."

"I won't tell if you don't," John shrugged, "besides, games are good for taking your mind off things." He glanced at the picture still frozen on the screen. "Just not games like these. Got anything else?" 

"There's this one game I haven't tried yet," Alan answered, sitting up a little straighter. "It's supposed to be great, a kind of puzzle game where logic and tactically thinking combines with gold old fashioned heroics."

"Sounds right up our alley."

"Yeah, I think we'll like it, it's called Cavern Quest."

**Author's Note:**

> Damn my brain for giving me "Alan was probably only 14 when he saw his first dead body." Then tag teaming that with why Alan plays video games so much and why he often falls asleep on the floor, exhausted from playing but not wanting to go to bed.
> 
> I'm sorry.


End file.
